We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
"Something is burning, baby, are you aware? Something is the matter, baby, there's smoke in your hair Are you still my friend, baby, show me a sign Is the love in your heart for me turning blind?
You've been avoiding the main streets for a long, long while The truth that I'm seeking is in your missing file What's your position, baby, what's going on? Why is the light in your eyes nearly gone?
I know everything about this place, or so it seems Am I no longer a part of your plans or your dreams? Well, it is so obvious that something has changed What's happening, baby, to make you act so strange?
Something is burning, baby, here's what I say Even the bloodhounds of London couldn't find you today I see the shadow of a man, baby, makin' you blue Who is he, baby, and what's he to you?
We've reached the edge of the road, baby, where the pasture begins Where charity is supposed to cover up a multitude of sins But where do you live, baby, and where is the light? Why are your eyes just staring off in the night?
I can feel it in the night when I think of you I can feel it in the light and it's got to be true You can't live by bread alone, you won't be satisfied You can't roll away the stone if your hands are tied
Got to start someplace, baby, can you explain? Please don't fade away on me, baby, like the midnight train Answer me, baby, a casual look will do Just what in the world has come over you?
I can feel it in the wind and it's upside down I can feel it in the dust as I get off the bus on the outskirts of town I've had the Mexico City blues since the last hairpin curve I don't wanna see you bleed, I know what you need but it ain't what you deserve
Something is burning, baby, something's in flames There's a man going 'round calling names Ring down when you're ready, baby, I'm waiting for you I believe in the impossible, you know that I do."
"Something's Burning, Baby,"from 1985's Empire Burlesque. The song has never been performed in concert, even in the years immediately after the album's release, so the version below is the original from the album.
"Nobody feels any pain Tonight as I stand inside the rain Ev'rybody knows That Baby's got new clothes But lately I see her ribbons and her bows Have fallen from her curls. She takes just like a woman, yes, she does She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does And she aches just like a woman But she breaks just like a little girl.
Queen Mary, she's my friend Yes, I believe I'll go see her again Nobody has to guess That Baby can't be blessed Till she sees finally that she's like all the rest With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls. She takes just like a woman, yes, she does She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does And she aches just like a woman But she breaks just like a little girl.
It was raining from the first And I was dying there of thirst So I came in here And your long-time curse hurts But what's worse Is this pain in here I can't stay in here Ain't it clear that--
I just can't fit Yes, I believe it's time for us to quit When we meet again Introduced as friends Please don't let on that you knew me when I was hungry and it was your world. Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do You make love just like a woman, yes, you do Then you ache just like a woman But you break just like a little girl."
"Just Like a Woman," originally released on Blonde on Blonde, but appearing in no less than seven other official Dylan releases in various versions. Below is the performance from the Concert for Bangladesh in 1971.
"Mama, take this badge off of me I can't use it anymore. It's gettin' dark, too dark for me to see I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door.
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Mama, put my guns in the ground I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is comin' down I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door."
"Knockin' On Heaven's Door," from the soundtrack album to the Sam Peckinpah film Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid. This is possibly Dylan's most-covered song, yet no version that I have heard either by other artists or by Dylan himself in live performance has made a significant improvement on the understated but effective original, which we include below.
"Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin' But build to destroy You play with my world Like it's your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run farther When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people's blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud...(continued)"
Amazingly, it has taken us more than three years to finally post "Masters of War," one of Dylan's better known tunes, and a perennial favorite of the Left. Written in 1962 for The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, it is still played frequently in concert today. A 1996 version is below.
"Seven days, seven more days she'll be comin' I'll be waiting at the station for her to arrive Seven more days, all I gotta do is survive.
She been gone ever since I been a child Ever since I seen her smile, I ain't forgotten her eyes. She had a face that could outshine the sun in the skies.
I been good, I been good while I been waitin' Maybe guilty of hesitatin', I just been holdin' on Seven more days, all that'll be gone.
There's kissing in the valley, Thieving in the alley, Fighting every inch of the way. Trying to be tender With somebody I remember In a night that's always brighter than the day.
Seven days, seven more days that are connected Just like I expected, she'll be comin' forth, My beautiful comrade from the north."
"Seven Days," written in 1976 but never recorded in the studio. A live performance from that year was included on the 1991 release "The Bootleg Series Vols. I-III," and was revived several times by Dylan during the 1996 spring and summer tours. The song has also been covered by Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood, who performs it here at Dylan's 30th Anniversary Concert in 1992 (the anniversary being that of Dylan's first album).
"Well it's twinkle, twinkle, little star Along came Brady in his 'lectric car He's got a mean look right in his eye He's gonna shoot somebody just to see 'em die
Refrain: He's been on the job too long!
Well, Duncan, Duncan was tending the bar Along comes Brady with his shining star And Brady says, "Duncan, you're under arrest," Then Duncan shot a hole right in Brady's chest
Brady, Brady, Brady, well you know you done wrong Breakin' in here while the games goin' on You come a-breakin' down the windows, And knockin' down the door And now you're lyin' dead on the barroom floor
Well, ol' King Brady was a big fat man The Doctor reached down, grabbed a hold of his hand He felt for his pulse, then shook his head Said I believe to my soul, King Brady's dead
High tail carriages just a -standin' around To carry King Brady to the buryin' ground Them rubber tired buggies, them rubber tired hacks They took him to the graveyard, never brung him back
When the women all heard that King Brady was dead They went out a home and they be racked in red They come a-slipping' and a-slidin' and shufflin' down the street In their big mother hubbards and their stockin' feet."
"Duncan and Brady," which I am happy to be able to post now that someone has uploaded a video of a 2000 performance, a year when Bob opened many of his shows with the song. Who was the original author? I do not know.
Long after most of his contemporaries either died, left the business or held on by the ties of nostalgia, Dylan continues to tour almost continuously and release highly regarded CDs, most recently "Modern Times." Fans, critics and academics have obsessed over his lyrics -- even digging through his garbage for clues -- since the mid-1960s, when such protest anthems as "Blowin' in the Wind" made Dylan a poet and prophet for a rebellious generation.
His songs include countless biblical references and he has claimed Chekhov, Walt Whitman and Jack Kerouac as influences. His memoir, "Chronicles, Volume One," received a National Book Critics Circle nomination in 2005 and is widely acknowledged as the rare celebrity book that can be treated as literature.
According to publisher Simon & Schuster, Dylan is working on a second volume of memoirs. No release date has been set.
Why reporters persist with that "prophet for a rebellious generation" nonsense I don't know. Maybe it's to put the guy in a box with a label. Of course, he is not the corporate guy in the grey flannel suit, but if that's rebellious, then bring it on.
I'd call him a prodigious and ambitiously truth-telling singer-songwriter whose work, over 45 years, covers everything from love to God to war, from joy to despair, and which borrows - or steals - heavily from the Great American Songbook using folk, blues, country blues, country, ditties, jazz, nursery rhymes, rock, and love ballads...not to mention the Great Irish and Great Scottish Songbooks - and from movies, books, and especially from the Bible.
Many folks don't seem to realize that most of Dylan's best stuff is post-60s. We do get a kick out of olde Maggie's Farm though, because all of us have learned to dislike working for other people (what's with the headdresses? Pure loony frivolity, methinks):
Found this LaVern Baker at, of all places, RightWingBob. A new blog, to us. Long lost cousin? Belongs on our Dylan blogroll.
The site has good quotes from Bob's most recent radio show, Theme Time Radio, here. A sample:
Johnny Cash — Fuego del Amor (Spanish lingo version of “Ring of Fire” ) (Bob reads Danté on the Ninth Circle of Hell.) “I’m gonna leave you with one last thought. This one isn’t quite so deep as Danté. It’s from our plain-talkin’ president, Harry S. Truman. He said, ‘Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.’ See ya next week.”
Our friend Gerard Van der Leun tried his hand at a little musical comedy today: Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?, by the Lovin' Superdelegates. A fine effort of course, as are all things American Digest. But of course, we can't help thinking he's mining a shaft with precious little ore in it. Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews is the mother lode, my brother!
SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious! Howard Dean is whining: Hey! infighting's gonna croak us If he says AARGH! loud enough He hopes the flock will focus SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious!
When Obama starts to speak Assembled throngs go mad Rodham gives his nose a tweak Points out his pastor's rad Then old Barry learned a word That saved his aching nose SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious!
Conversely under sniper fire There's no need for dismay For losing votes in Florida for caucusing last May Just claim those superdelegates If they can make parole SuperClintObamaDelegateFightIsAtrocious!
"Tweeter and the monkey man were hard up for cash They stayed up all night selling cocaine and hash To an undercover cop who had a sister named Jan For reasons unexplained she loved the monkey man
Tweeter was a boy scout before she went to Vietnam And found out the hard way nobody gives a damn They knew that they found freedom just across the Jersey line So they hopped into a stolen car took Highway 99
(chorus) And the walls came down all the way to hell Never saw them when they're standing Never saw them when they fell
The undercover cop never liked the monkey man Even back in childhood he wanted to see him in the can Jan got married at fourteen to a racketeer named bill She made secret calls to the monkey man from a mansion on the hill
It was out on thunder road, tweeter at the wheel They crashed into paradise, they could hear them tires squeal The undercover cop pulled up and said everyone of you's a liar If you dont surrender now its gonna go down to the wire
(chorus)
An ambulance rolled up, a state trooper close behind Tweeter took his gun away and messed up his mind The undercover cop was left tied up to a tree Near the souvenir stand by the old abandoned factory
Next day the undercover cop was hot in pursuit He was taking the whole thing personal He didnt care about the loot Jan had told him many times it was you to me who taught In Jersey anything's legal as long as you dont get caught."
(chorus) ... Lyrics continued below.
"Tweeter and the Monkey Man," off the Traveling Wilburys, Vol. I, from 1988. The chorus is sung by the rest of the group: Roy Orbison, Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne and George Harrison, but the lead vocals and all the words are Dylan's (with a little assistance from Petty). A close read of the lyrics reveals a lot of imagery lifted/borrowed from Bruce Springsteen. Don't worry too much about them though - just enjoy the original recording below.
"High water risin' - risin' night and day All the gold and silver are being stolen away Big Joe Turner lookin' East and West From the dark room of his mind He made it to Kansas City Twelfth Street and Vine Nothing standing there High water everywhere
High water risin', the shacks are slidin' down Folks lose their possessions - folks are leaving town Bertha Mason shook it - broke it Then she hung it on a wall Says, "You're dancin' with whom they tell you to Or you don't dance at all." It's tough out there High water everywhere
I got a cravin' love for blazing speed Got a hopped up Mustang Ford Jump into the wagon, love, throw your panties overboard I can write you poems, make a strong man lose his mind I'm no pig without a wig I hope you treat me kind Things are breakin' up out there High water everywhere
High water risin', six inches 'bove my head Coffins droppin' in the street Like balloons made out of lead Water pourin' into Vicksburg, don't know what I'm going to do "Don't reach out for me," she said "Can't you see I'm drownin' too?" It's rough out there High water everywhere
Well, George Lewis told the Englishman, the Italian and the Jew "You can't open your mind, boys To every conceivable point of view." They got Charles Darwin trapped out there on Highway Five Judge says to the High Sheriff, "I want him dead or alive Either one, I don't care." High Water everywhere
The Cuckoo is a pretty bird, she warbles as she flies I'm preachin' the Word of God I'm puttin' out your eyes I asked Fat Nancy for something to eat, she said, "Take it off the shelf - As great as you are a man, You'll never be greater than yourself."
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Yes, the guy paints and draws. I don't know how he finds the time.
From a CNN